


The Jealous and the Just

by KonstantineXIII



Series: Brevity is the Soul of Wit [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: And I Missed, Dancing, Dapper!Lexa, F/F, I Swung for, Jealousy, Prompt Fill, Sex, That Smirking Whore From Highgarden, in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:58:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonstantineXIII/pseuds/KonstantineXIII
Summary: “I hate this,” Margaery’s low tone soured in Lexa’s ear, and she responded by tightening her grip in Margaery’s hand.“It is Sansa’s fault,” Lexa responded acidly.“You’re drunk,” the doll-like voice seethed, “This is all your girlfriend’s doing,”





	The Jealous and the Just

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saludos Anon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Saludos+Anon).



> This is flaming hot garbage. Please keep away from children.

Lexa’s jaw ached. It had started as a dull, troublesome grind of molars, quickly readjusted to focus on the four front interlocked canines. Every so often, her jaws would spasm and tighten as her eyes wandered. If the glass of champagne in her thin fingers could speak, it would groan in pain.

The couple in front of her were chatting amiably, and she was well versed enough in social graces to entertain them and internally seethe, simultaneously. Without her permission, her intelligent jade green eyes slid to the other side of the room once more.

Her jaw ached.

A pause in conversational rhythm caught her attention and Lexa brought her attention back to her immediate front. The older couple casually waved their desire to go visit the table of appetizers, and Lexa genially excused them. It only took a flick of her eyes back across the room for her to miss the movement at her elbow. Nearly startling, Lexa breathed deeply and dipped her head in a new greeting.

“Hello,”

In front of her stood a very beautiful woman, dressed smartly in a grey-green silk dress. A passing glance could confidently label her silhouette as beautifully feminine, an attractive being no doubt. But a simple second look would notice the too-loose posture, too-full cheeks, and too-crooked lips. She was well designed, that was for sure.

 _Attractively cunning,_ Lexa thought to herself on a whim. _A dangerous debutante, wrapped in the thorns and rose petals of lethal beauty._

“Good evening,” the woman said in a high, gritting, reception. The timbre of her voice was less rough as it was hoarse. Like granulated sugar in icing meant to be smooth.

“I don’t believe we have been acquainted,” she continued, “My name is Margaery Stark,” her long dusty hair was beautifully plaited as she nodded her head in a small bow.

“Lexa Woods,” the woman replied interestedly.

Margaery Stark’s eyes were dark, irritated lightning storms of unsettingly electric blue, and Lexa had an inkling as to why. Light, classical music played over the din of a hundred sophisticated conversations. Margaery nodded, acknowledging the returned greeting, before her lips turned upwards in a forced smile. Lexa immediately rejected the expression, a spark of irritation igniting in her breast.

“Ms. Woods,” those blue eyes slid curiously, coincidentally, Lexa noticed, to the same corner of the room her own were attracted to, “I believe you lost something,” they flicked back to Lexa’s own viridian, “And I would appreciate it if you retrieved your property.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Information long dismissed reassimilated in her mind.

“It seems you are mistaken,” Lexa’s aired tensely. Even without her heels, Lexa was tall enough to look down on the stiletto-featured woman, a fact that smoldered her chest in victory, “I have not lost anything. Though it seems you cannot say the same,”

The bright eyes darkened, Lexa’s implication and refusal clear.

“I don’t think I catch your meaning, Ms. Woods,”

“My meaning, Margaery Stark, is that you seem to have lost the lead to your leash,”

Margaery’s teeth finally came together, her smirk dying, and Lexa nearly felt pity for her teeth. Nearly. With an equal measure of irritated air, the two women turned simultaneously to look across the ballroom.

Lexa felt her teeth set on edge once more.

She had first been highly amused. She had not wanted to attend the gala at all – she never does. But in her stubborn pride, she finally bit the inevitable bullet and found a dress to wear. Her selection had surprised even Lexa, much less the few guests in attendance who knew her. The new heart Clarke had given the sponsor of this event nearly gave out when he saw Lexa’s long-time girlfriend.

Clarke wore a daring midnight blue dress that fell to the floor, sparkling when she moved. The straps curved over her shoulders led to a deep cut of V that fell to the very center of her sternum. The sheer amount of cleavage shown was miraculous in daring gravity to enforce itself once more. The thigh high slit of her dress allowed a delicious view of toned, pale leg, seemingly endless in golden, platform heels. The cardiac surgeon was only slightly taller than the average woman, and six extra inches put her eyes even with Lexa’s. Golden hair fell in two, perfect waves around her face, the rest pinned in an elegant chignon. It was art, and it only accentuated the dark eye make up she had donned.

Overall, if Lexa had encountered her on the street, she would have immediately shoved a million dollars at her and begged to be spanked. As it were, she had simply leaned to kiss her girlfriend on the cheek in satisfaction and pride, and asked her if she was ready to go.

But Lexa had been amused, yes. Clarke had probably meant to give off an air of unapproachability, and many men and women were indeed warned off by a sharp blue eye. So when Sansa Stark – a long time friend of Lexa’s – had approached Clarke at the bar, Lexa had smiled.

Because it had taken Lexa six entire months to stop calling her ‘Ms. Griffin’ at the coffee shop they both had frequented in college, and that was when Clarke had been at the height of her flirting career. Clarke had been so patient. So when Sansa had strolled over in a lilac and gold halter dress, rich red hair arranged plainly and beautifully in a sweep of cedar, and shook a confused hand, yes. Lexa had been amused.

But Lexa was not amused now. Nor was Margaery Stark, who Lexa knew to share an adopted daughter with Sansa. She was not amused to notice that Clarke was smirking at Sansa with that particular curl of those perfect lips. _Lexa’s_ smirk.

She was not amused to see Sansa’s careful fingers place a lock of honey-brushed hair back into a pin. Lexa was not entertained by the challenging sparkle in Clarke’s eyes as the taller redhead spoke to her. That sparkle belonged to _Lexa._ It belonged to the hot, tense nights that were only cooled by the bright moonlight shining into their bedroom window.

Lexa watched as one of her oldest friends _hit on_ her girlfriend, and as her girlfriend flirted back. The same girlfriend whose smoky blue eyes finally, finally, slid in her direction.

_There, now she will see that I do not like what I am seeing. Now she will-_

Lexa’s green eyes flew wide in shock, as her sweet, sultry Clarke locked eyes with her, lifted a brow, turned away, and placed a hand on the tabletop of the bar. Directly over where Sansa had placed her hand moments before. The abandoned couple watched in shock as Sansa stepped into Clarke’s personal space, and Sansa bent to whisper into Clarke’s delicate ear, a smile on both beautiful faces.

Lexa couldn’t believe it.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and the air turned hot and tight.

“Ms. Woods,” the caramelized voice called to Lexa, her logical faculties seeming to have taken a vacation. Lexa focused on the uncomfortable-looking smile on Margaery’s asymmetrically beautiful face, “May I have a dance with you?”

Lexa’s mind understood Margaery’s intentions immediately.

“Of course, Mrs. Stark,” she ground.

She was Lexa Woods, the girlfriend of a successful surgeon, and the owner of a ridiculously lucrative computer engineering company in her own right. She was a paragon of health, civil rights activism, monogamy, and loving commitment.

Not to mention Margaery Stark. The famous debutant was rumored to be in the teens when counting the line for Crown Royalty of Winterkru She had a glittering circle of friends, and left a trail of brokenhearted suitors everywhere she went.

Lexa Woods and Margaery Stark were no wallflowers.

So there was no doubt in Lexa’s mind that when she set down her glass and held out a hand for Margaery to take, they were a _very_ good-looking couple. Her three-piece suit was cut to lovingly accentuate her curves, her jacket artfully modeled over her vest in the deepest of charcoals. Heels and the 20 carat gold gear-shaped cufflinks Clarke had bought her a year ago completed the look of, ‘too expensive for even your dreams’.

True to the foxy woman’s plan, when the famously beautiful Margaery Stark, scandalously on the arm of the handsome Lexa Woods, graced the elegant dance floor, heads turned. Taller and more charismatically forward, Lexa took lead. Even with Clarke, Lexa rarely allowed herself to be led.

Publically.

Margaery was a surprisingly good dancer, though Lexa was absolutely loathe to admit it. Everything about the woman’s style was repulsive to her. Not a moment had passed at their introduction before Margaery had compared Clarke to an object to be returned as property in her rightful place.

Still, Margaery Stark had been born into this game, and her facades of etiquette were masterful. Her feminine features were nothing but pleasant, romantic even, when one ignored the rage underneath the veil of her clearwater eyes.

“I hate this,” Margaery’s low tone soured in Lexa’s ear, and she responded by tightening her grip in Margaery’s hand.

“It is Sansa’s fault,” Lexa responded acidly.

“You’re drunk,” the doll-like voice seethed, “This is all your girlfriend’s doing,”

“My girlfriend was enjoying herself, alone, at the bar. When yours decided to give monogamy a sweet and swift kiss goodbye,” Lexa sniped back, her tone tart but her visage pleasant.

“Sansa would never cheat on me,” Margaery growled.

“I never said she would,” Lexa kept eyes with the woman, “but if I were her, I think I would take the next window of opportunity to. God knows Clarke is temptation personified,”

She smiled, and Margaery was forced to match the expression for appearances’ sake. But her eyes had gone nearly white in dangerous intent.

“You are crushing my hand, Mrs. Stark,” Lexa commented lightly.

“I know,” the foxy woman ground out, grimacing.

“I thought the point of this dance was to show them we can be just as flirtatious and independent?”

“It is,” Margaery growled.

“Then please, clear your facial expression. You look as if you are a moment away from passing a kidney stone,”

“An experience that would no doubt be more pleasant than dancing with you,”

“Spare me your complaining, Margie,” Lexa smiled sweetly, “And deliver it to an audience who cares a little more. I would directly you to Sansa, but it is obvious she does not,”

The two took a turn, and Lexa’s jaw shut with an audible click as she saw Sansa guide Clarke elegantly to the dance floor.

“Come on, Clarke,” Lexa chanted in a mumble, “Lead, be the lead, please do not play submissive to her,”

“Damn,” Margaery seethed, her eyes flashing at the display as Sansa turned to Clarke, taking up her hand. Sansa was absolutely breathtaking in her movement; confident and poised, dominant in her own subtle style.

“Damn,” Lexa repeated, trying to focus on keeping her own eyes pleasantly sparkling while the love of her life danced fluidly with another woman. She had always taken the lead in Lexa and her own relationship. It was a role they naturally fell into; Lexa, though outwardly strong and clinically direct at times, was an inherently gentle soul. Cautious and hesitant to first moves. In contrast, Clarke was the true backbone of their relationship. Warm and confident, Clarke was settled in her strength, reminding Lexa behind closed doors of her iron safety net. Their roles in the bedroom often followed thus, and neither had a single complaint.

But there were certain days, afternoons, or phases of the moon for all Lexa knew, where Clarke would hold a lit fire within herself. A fire that melted wax and metal and sent Clarke into subterranean stages of submissive. Those were the times Lexa loved the woman unreasonably – and Lexa was allowed to love Clarke with the brash, bold, confidence of frustrated love and unspoken devotion.

And that softness, Lexa’s softness was being given to Sansa Stark.

It made Lexa see red.

But the current song ended to a smattering of applause, and Lexa let her hands drop from Margaery like the woman carried a plague. The cunning woman smirked slightly, and Lexa refrained from rolling her eyes, substituting a flex of her jaw.

“I feel a bit thirsty,” she said instead, her green eyes hazing charmingly, playing the part of the perfect gentleman “Accompany me to the bar?”

Margaery seemed to want very much to say something other than the, “Yes, of course,” she gave in response. But she held herself well, if Lexa could pay the woman a compliment. A single hand to the polite low of Margaery’s back, and Lexa escorted the foul woman to the bar.

“Two shots of Jameson,” Margaery told the bartender sharply, then shot Lexa an even sharper look, “And what will you have?”

The executive scoffed.

“The same,” Lexa blanded, her jade eyes roaming the ballroom once more, her mind frantic in her jealousy. Her lips quirked as Margaery audibly scowled at the challenge met.

“Why are they doing this?” Margaery grumbled, and Lexa frowned lightly.

“If you do not know,” Lexa sighed, “I have no idea,” she bit her lip gently, worry creasing her eyes as she looked to Margaery. The woman seemed to pick up Lexa’s line of thought and she reflected her own slight vulnerability back.

“You think it’s something we’ve done?” she asked lowly.

Lexa shook her head, “Clarke and I have long since worked out our deep-seated issues, and it is not in her nature to be petty,”

Margaery returned to her own scowl and nodded, her delicate eyebrows flexing as she thought in circles Lexa no doubt would have found dizzying.

“Sansa would never cheat on me you know,”

Lexa gave an irritated puff of air through her nose elegantly and turned to pick up one of the four shots on the bar. She nodded to herself and gave a muted, “I know,” and swallowed the burning amber liquid.

Margaery simply stayed silent for once and took a shot as well.

After that, the two sulked, making small comments to each other as they observed their respective life partners charade in front of them as the world’s most flirtatious couple.

“Tell Sansa that if she ever wants to play a harp again, it is in her best interest never to touch Clarke there again,” Lexa ground out. Margaery merely hummed, eyes aflame.

“Ms. Woods! Do you have a moment?”

Lexa turned to observe a well dressed woman addressing her. The woman had on a suit similar to her own, though she wasn’t masculine enough to don a tie. A recorder in her hand identified her as a high-profile press member.

“Ah, I suppose so,” Lexa said carefully. Truthfully, she wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone other than Clarke right now. And by ‘speak’ she meant ‘argue’, and by ‘argue’, she meant ‘leave violent hickeys on until Clarke remembers who she’s in a relationship with’.

“Wonderful!” the woman replied, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m Arya Tarth with the Norkru Khronicle. You look amazing tonight, as usual, Ms. Woods. I’m a fan of your charity work,”

Lexa dipped her head in acknowledgement. Beside her, Margaery snorted ordered another drink. Lexa lit up.

“Yes, it is nice to meet you, Arya,” she smiled sincerely, “Can I introduce you to my friend, Margaery Stark?”

Margaery went stone still while Arya ruffled in glee, tickled at the idea of a scoop with royalty. The reporter turned her attention to the not-quite monarch, and Lexa pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Staying silent, she noticed the song end, and the polite clapping to congratulate the orchestra.

Except this time, Sansa Stark didn’t just clap. Her celebration consisted of leaning to kiss Clarke on the cheek, directly when Clarke had turned her head. Lexa was a rational creature. She knew it was an accident.

But her heart called for blood.

It was the last straw.

“Excuse me,” Lexa tossed to an uncaring audience.

She stormed in long, direct strides to where Clarke looked beautiful, and guilty, and damned. Sansa’s pale features were careful, but Lexa only spared a moment for her friend.

Through gritted teeth, Lexa tossed another half-hearted excusal, and turned pure, compressed fury on her girlfriend.

“Clarke,” she raged. Clarke looked like she wanted to flinch before she bit her lip. As though deciding something, she breathed calmly and straightened. A frosty look, and Lexa’s chest flamed even hotter.

“Yes, Lexa?”

Lexa ground her teeth.

“May I speak with you?” she seethed, “Privately?”

Clarke looked devastating in her consideration.

“I suppose,”

Lexa nearly screamed. But her self discipline won out. Working her jaw, she followed Clarke’s sweep of fabric to the restroom. A door attendant smiled politely as Clarke walked in, but Lexa halted.

“Keep the guests out,” SHE growled, handing the attendant a handful of bills Lexa didn’t care enough to count.

The woman glanced at the cash in her hand and back to Lexa’s black features. A quick nod and she resumed her sentinel status.

Bursting into the restroom, Lexa found Clarke with her arms crossed behind her, the picture of patience. It made Lexa slow. She breathed shortly, advancing on her girlfriend until there wasn’t enough room for another person to stand.

“Clarke,” Lexa smoked darkly, “You have made many miscalculations tonight,”

The woman’s eyes, so pleasantly blue, glinted in defiance, “I danced with a woman who wasn’t you, Lexa. If that’s a capital offence, I should have locked you away years ago,”

Lexa felt the heat in her chest roar, her girlfriend’s words fuel to her flame.

“I have _never_ made you feel the way I felt tonight. You have always known I belong to you, and I had thought it was a mutual agreement. We wake up in the same place as we go to bed – together,”

Clarke scoffed lightly.

“That’s what it all comes down to with you? Sex?” The surgeon gave a small, condescending toss of her head, “If you’ll excuse me,” and she made to cross back to the door.

If not for Lexa’s quick reflexes, where she caught her girlfriend’s wrist and jerked to pull Clarke to her chest, her face inches from the shorter woman’s.

“Apparently not enough, is it about sex,” Lexa whispered menacingly, “Five years ago, you were well aware of who you belonged to. When I called you, you came. Literally,” her eyes narrowed, “We fucked in closets and stairwells, laboratories and bathrooms, under desks and at strangers’ apartments. You never so much as looked at another woman,”

Clarke was held completely still, trapped in the inferno above her. Lexa’s words were almost an aphrodisiac. She remembered, all right. She recalled the hushed beckoning Lexa enticed her with. If it was dark, had a locking door, or coverable windows, Lexa would call her name, her eyes dark in lust, a Cheshire smirk on her beautiful lips.

She remembered the strength in Lexa’s fingers. Not in holding Clarke still, no, in holding her mouth shut. In those days, Clarke almost didn’t care if she hurt Lexa, and Lexa returned the treatment. Lexa’s last concern had been in calling to the younger woman’s heart. Lexa’s only priority had been in stifling the slick sounds of her fingers drawing an orgasm from the young med student.

“I think it has been much too long,” Lexa crooned, her hands moving from Clarke’s wrist to her hair like a viper rearing its head, “much, much too long. Since you were reminded to whom you belong,”

Slowly, almost lovingly, her hand tightened in her girlfriend’s hair. Clarke winced slightly.

“I love you, darling, I do,” Lexa murmured, her head dipping to skim her nose along Clarke’s neck, pressing forward. Clarke shuddered and stifled a gasp as her back touched the cold tile wall. She hadn’t even been aware Lexa was moving her.

“But you let Sansa Stark claim you as hers. You let her touch you. You let her whisper to you. You let her find the places on you that belong to me,”

Lexa laid a small kiss to Clarke’s uncovered shoulder.

“So I am going to take you back,” she kissed higher up, “all of you,” another, “whether you like it or not,” she whispered.

Clarke gasped as Lexa bit her harshly, her free hand slipping into the slit of her dress and immediately dipping into her panties. Her own hands instantly sought to steady herself on Lexa’s shoulders. Her arms looped around her girlfriend and she held on for dear life as Lexa’s wrath was wrought. She was lucky she found her girlfriend’s fury hotter than hell, because Lexa pushed inside of her without warning of any kind.

Her legs buckled, and Clarke almost collapsed as she swung a leg around Lexa’s hips, the taller woman catching her thigh and clamping down hard enough to bruise.

Lexa had been more than ecstatic to find Clarke so impossibly wet. Her chest purred in satisfaction as she slipped two fingers inside her lover and pumped without mercy in her rhythm. Clarke needed no adjustment. Lexa let Clarke shiver and moan against her as she fucked her relentlessly, her ego inflating beyond normal.

“You are _mine_ , Clarke,” she whispered into the gilded locks.

Clarke gave a pathetic sort of whine, frantically grasping Lexa to her. Lexa smiled and shifted. She pulled her head back to stare at the flush of Clarke’s face, the helpless satisfaction in her ocean blue eyes. Just as quickly, Lexa crushed the yielding lips to her own. Clarke immediately allowed her mouth to fall prey to Lexa’s tongue, her body confused by dual rhythms of equal importance. A half a second later, Lexa readjusted her hand and added a third finger to her vicious pace.

Clarke’s entire body spasmed, and she fell completely silent, her spine arching off the wall in an unexpected orgasm. Lexa raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself. She slowed herself to a stop inside of Clarke, and the smaller woman leaned most of her weight on her girlfriend, breathing deeply.

Clarke smiled to herself, planting a kiss to Lexa’s neck above her suit. When she went to plant her leg once more, Clarke found herself confused.

“Oh no,” Lexa murmured, kissing Clarke’s upturned lips quickly. She spoke against Clarke’s lips, so impossibly close, “You have not learned your lesson yet, my love,”

She pumped out and back inside the tight chasm of Clarke’s body, and the surgeon gave an overly sensitive shudder, her eyes blowing wide in disbelief of her girlfriend.

“Lex-“ she tried, and Lexa only hushed her, eyes deep in righteous vindication.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, her eyes scanning Clarke’s face in measured reverence, “Who do you belong to?”

Clarke panted briefly, “Lexa, what? I- _ep!_ ”

The sound she made was undignified. But undignified matched the manner in which Lexa thrust back inside of Clarke’s cunt, her leg shaking from where it supported her. Lexa found the deep spot inside Clarke’s pussy and stroked with long fingers. Where before, Clarke had simply needed to be filled and loved, this was pure fucking.

Lexa curled her fingers and stroked along Clarke’s soft front wall, catching the deepest spots of toe-curling pleasure. She was too good at this, Clarke knew, and it was nearly embarrassing how close she already was.

“Lex-! I-“ Clarke breathed out disjointed sounds, and Lexa smirked at the mess of her girlfriend against the wall.

“Clarke,” her voice was hard, and Clarke’s hands clawed deeper into her jacket at the tone, “Who do you belong to?”

Clarke breathed and felt her stomach drop, her orgasm ratcheting up.

“Yours,” she breathed, compliance and devotion in every letter, “I’m yours,”

Lexa’s heart gave a neat purr, and her hand around Clarke’s thigh tightened in reciprocation to Clarke’s cunt tightening around her fingers. Still, she kept up her stroking draws, unrelenting and persistent.

In a rippling motion of unrestrained ecstasy, Clarke felt her orgasm rise, crest, and come down around her ears in a spine-rattling series of shudders. Under Lexa’s hungry green eyes, Clarke fell to pieces.

Ceasing movement, Lexa carefully withdrew from Clarke’s depths. Her girlfriend could keep going, but to do so without a promise of a bed to curl into immediately afterwards was a cruel, undeserved punishment to the simple game Clarke had played.

Gently lowering Clarke’s leg, Lexa laid gentle kisses to Clarke’s cheek, and the woman recovered enough to smile in soul-searing satisfaction. She hummed and allowed Lexa to kiss her deeply on the lips, their mouths fitting together in simple homeostasis.

“Wash my hands,” Lexa murmured when she pulled away. Clarke nodded and pushed her weight from the wall, plastering herself over Lexa’s back as the woman turned. Lexa huffed a laugh, happy to have Clarke cling to her.

A stark contrast from the previous record of their evening.

Finished, Lexa turned and brought Clarke into her arms. Clarke stepped into Lexa’s warmth and love like she had just returned from war. It had been a gamble of epic proportions, but Sansa had been confident.

“You know I was kidding, right?” Lexa eventually hummed into Clarke’s hair, “You can dance with whoever you like. I only wish you had smiled at me once,” she wrinkled her nose, “Perhaps twice,”

Clarke roused herself enough to laugh, her eyes sparkling to life. She pulled away from Lexa’s shoulder and smiled gently. Lexa’s heart beat hard at the oceanic blue of her girlfriend’s eyes, so much calmer, so much deeper, than the blue of Margaery Stark’s.

“Yes, Lex,” Clarke curled, “And you know that Sansa Stark is not at all my type, right?”

Lexa smirked at that.

“Yes,”

“Oh yeah?” Clarke mused, smiling, “How’s that?”

“Because,” Lexa breathed in deep self-satisfaction, her posture correcting her swagger, “Sansa Stark,” she annunciated cleanly, “is a pillow princess,”

Clarke burst into laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> With Love and Apologies, 
> 
> K


End file.
